


Scuff Up The Sidewalk

by gardnerlangway



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 07:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20862383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerlangway/pseuds/gardnerlangway
Summary: You've known Roger your whole life. You've loved him your whole life too.





	Scuff Up The Sidewalk

The early morning sun struck the marble floor in rosy pinks and violets, like when you’d hold sweet wrappers up to the light and see the world through a kaleidoscope. You carefully held out your foot, letting the colours slide across the stark black leather of your uncomfortable Sunday shoes.

The priest was still droning on. You supposed you should be listening but the rainbow scattered across the floor was far more interesting. You looked up at the stained glass window, trying to line up the colours with the squares of glass in the portrait of a saint, long dead. 

Your father caught you and harshly whispered for you to stop fidgeting. Annoyed but smart enough to know better than to argue, you looked forward again, resisting the urge to sigh. 

Two pews in front of you in the next row, Roger looked equally bored. His fingers drummed a steady rhythm against the wooden bench. It was a wonder his mother hadn’t scolded him yet. You watched his fingers, trying to match the pattern with a tune, but you couldn’t guess what song was rolling around in his head. Maybe it was one he’d written himself. 

Then, as if he could feel you watching him, he looked back at you, china-blue eyes tired but soft in the low light. He gave you a wicked, gap-toothed grin. You knew that smile, it was a question, a promise. You returned it, an answer, a sealed pact.

The moment the service was over, Roger took his mother’s hand and asked her something. You watched with bated breath and when Roger smiled and looked back at you, you grabbed your father’s hand and asked the same question.

“Can me and Roger go play?”

Your father glanced at your mother, who shrugged as if to say it was his decision. Your parents didn’t mind how much time you and Roger spent together, although they seemed to be hinting more and more that at ten years old, it might be good for you to have some friends who were girls, especially as you were starting secondary school in the autumn. 

It didn’t bother you. No matter how much they tried to tell you that grown-up girls and boys couldn’t be friends, you and Roger were inseparable. You’d known each other almost all your lives, he grew up in the same street as you, in the house opposite, the one with the yellow door. You’d seen each other almost every day since the day he moved down from Norfolk.

“I suppose it’s alright.” Your father took your hand before you could run off. “But back before it gets dark, alright?”

“Yes, dad.”

He nodded and let go of your hand, allowing you to race after Roger like two toy cars, pulled back so that the mechanism shot them forward again. 

You both stopped by the door of the church, politely nodding to the priest and saying ‘thank you’, before you were tearing off across the grass, past ancient headstones and rabbit warrens, running towards the sea, running under the sun, running forever.

You always ended up at the same place, though you liked to take a different route every time. Today you ran through town, scuffing the cobbled streets. 

Roger took the lead, as usual. He was always in charge and prone to sulking when he didn’t get his way, but you didn’t mind him being the leader. He always came up with the best games, and he always had a plan.

Today he knew he was taking you down to the seashore. He’d made sure to bring his pocket money with him so that he could buy you both lunch, a bag of chips each and maybe an ice cream if he could afford it.

Seagulls sailed above your heads as you pelted down the hill at breakneck speed, knowing that if you stopped or stumbled, you would smack into the pavement, scraping the skin off your knees. But you didn’t, you flew towards the sea, stretching out your arms so that you soared like the gulls above.

You both collided with the stone wall that separated the promenade from the beach, letting out breathless laughs as the air was pushed from your lungs. You giggled softly, turning back to face the hill you’d just pelted down while Roger scrambled up onto the wall, never staying in one place for long, eager to get as far away as possible before night fell and you had to trudge home again. 

“Hang on.” 

He reached out to you and you immediately let your palms rest against his, your fingers locking like puzzle pieces, meant to be interconnected. He pulled you up onto the wall next to him, making sure you were steady with a careful hand on your elbow, then he flashed you a bright smile and jumped down onto one of the huge boulders that leaned their backs up against the wall.

You jumped down beside him, crouching so that your hand pressed flat against the cool, sea foam-splattered rock. It was slippery beneath your palm, you worried your sensible shoes wouldn’t give you any grip, but Roger didn’t seem to care. He hopped from rock to rock like the seabirds around your feet, and it gave you the courage to move faster. That was Roger, always making you feel brave.

You followed him, as you always did, your fearless leader, down rock after rock until you finally reached the pebble beach. You knew your mother would scold you later for scratching the inky patina of your best shoes but right now, you couldn’t care less, because you suddenly realised that Roger was taking you somewhere new. 

Usually, you turned right and wandered down the beachfront, chucking stones into the ocean, not caring whether they skipped across its rough surf or not. You’d wander so far that you’d begin to climb a steep hill, where you could peer down over the treacherous cliff face and find seals harbouring from the winds, huddling close together. 

But today, you went left, following the curve of the beach to where the stacked rocks formed a wall. There was a gap just wide enough to squeeze through. The tide was on its way out but water still seeped between the rocks, like the ocean was breathing deeply, the soft sound of the waves like gentle snores.

Roger began to climb. He looked back at you, making sure you were still following him. When he saw you hadn’t moved, he grinned. “Scared?” 

You scowled, furious with him for knowing you so well. You took his outstretched hand. Roger made you braver, yes, but it was mostly through unrelenting goading. 

He helped you find your footing in the narrow groove between the rocks, then led you through to the other side. Here, the beach was completely empty. The summer sun was hidden by the imposing cliff face so no one visited this part of the cove, favouring the more open, sandy end of the beach. The sudden change in temperature made you shiver.

Roger led you round to the flat face of the cliffs, stumbling and giggling over the stones until you came to the mouth of a cave. You hesitated, while as usual, Roger didn’t err. You gazed into the darkness, feeling another chill roll over your skin as you pictured what might lay within.

Roger stepped inside, looking back at you expectantly. He seemed to sense your nervousness and for once, he didn’t tease you about it.

“Hey, it’s alright,” He smiled and it lit up the darkness that surrounded him. “Do you trust me?”

You did. God, you did.

You pulled in a deep breath, then followed Roger into the cave’s gently smiling jaws.

Thankfully, you didn’t go in too far and there was more than enough light to see by. Water splashed beneath your feet. When the tide came in, the cave would be flooded. You had a few hours until then but the lingering danger sat on the edge of your mind as you followed Roger deeper. 

You placed your hand flat against the cave wall, feeling the soft vibration of the sea against your palm, like you were in the belly of a living, breathing creature, swallowed whole like Jonah.

You found a groove in the ancient stone and you traced it with your fingertips. The furrow curved round and you realised it was a letter, someone had carved their name into the rock. You glanced at Roger; he looked very pleased with himself.

“Found this place a few weeks ago. I’ve been waiting for the right time to bring you here.”

“Roger, you shouldn’t have.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not allowed.”

He frowned. “Says who? No one owns this place. No one should be allowed to own rocks ‘n’ mountains ‘n’ stuff, should they? They don’t belong to anyone.” He grinned. “‘Part from that bit, right there. That’s mine.”

You thought for a moment, looking back at the wall and then down at your feet where there lay shards of metal, the last shreds of what was once a ‘do not enter’ sign. You picked up a piece, just like Roger had done, and began to carve your name beside his.

When you were finished, you turned to Roger with a smile. “It’s mine now too.”

“Ours,” Roger said. He pushed his long hair back from his face, the sea breeze already making it curl. “Belongs to us.”

You were too young to know it at the time, but in that moment, that split second, you made a promise to yourself: you adored that boy, you’d do anything for him, you’d love him till the day you died.

You left the cave soon after that. As much as he wanted to explore further, Roger could tell the slowly rising tide was making you anxious, so he made sure to get back to the safety of the sunlit beach with plenty of time to spare.

You were late home. Dinner was already on the table when you finally got in and your mother was furious. But it was worth it. It was always worth it.

* * *

“So how’d you do?” 

The words left your mouth before you could think about their effect. You bit your lip as Roger turned to look at you, but thankfully, he was smiling. It wasn’t his usual bright, cheek-bunching smile, but it would do. You couldn’t know it had nothing to do with his results, it was for you, because of you. 

You sat beside him, sighing as you sank down in the long, soft grass. The hillside overlooked a steep cliff, a perilous drop if you got too close. Ancient steps led down to the beach, another hidden cove, the stuff of myths and legends, where bright sunlight turned the water a glorious, magic turquoise, your own little paradise.

Roger was uncharacteristically quiet. He had been since that morning when the results came in. Your year group was only small but the school hall had felt suffocating as you walked up to collect your exam results. You didn’t see Roger there but you knew where he’d be. Good or bad, whenever he needed to think, he came to this hillside. 

The wind coming off the sea was so strong, it broke the warmth of the August sun and you shivered. All around you, the faded gold grass swayed in the breeze, rippling and shimmering like a pebble dropped in still waters. 

Not too far away, a crow hopped in and out of sight. To Roger, it was little more than a black smear in the shape of a bird, too proud to wear his glasses. This place, this little heaven, he didn’t need to see it clearly to know it was beautiful. It was just a feeling, a feeling that grew stronger when your bent knee pressed against his.

“Two As. One A*.” He raised his hand, showing you on his fingers, then dropped it again, letting it fall heavily against his thigh. 

You smiled, proud. “That’s great, Rog.” 

He didn’t look at you. He couldn’t. Roger didn’t want to talk, to tell you, but the anxious rope wrapped around his gut keep squeezing tighter and tighter until the truth was pushed from his lips. 

“I’m going away.” 

Silence fell between you. Even the sea seemed to hold its breath. 

You kept your gaze on the ground, following a ladybird as it made its way through grass that towered over it as an oak might loom over you. You felt just as much as you heard Roger sigh.

“I got into LHMC.”

You forced a smile. Meeting his gaze, you raised an eyebrow. “Doctor Taylor, eh?” You drew out the title, trying it out for the first time. It sounded so grown up. It didn’t feel real at all. 

“DDS.” Roger gave a scornful laugh.

It hurt your heart to hear it. This was what he’d been working towards for years and it had paid off. All those sleepless, worried nights, the endless studying, the frightened tears, it was all finally worth it. But Roger tore at the grass, letting it slip through his fingers, carried away by the wind. 

“That’s… That’s wonderful.” You saw his lip curl with disdain and sighed. “It’s a good job, Rog.”

“That’s what my parents say. They want me to make enough money that I won’t have to worry.”

“What do _you_ want?”

“I don’t know.” His voice cut through the air. Roger saw your face fall and sighed, resting his head in his hands, “I don’t know. I just… I always thought…”

“What?”

You weren’t put off by the harsh bite of his voice, like his words had jagged teeth. You knew he was upset, that he just couldn’t explain himself properly. You and Roger knew each other inside-out and back-to-front. Whatever was bothering him, it would bother you too until you got it out of him.

“It’s stupid,” he said quietly.

You leaned closer, resting your head on his shoulder briefly. You murmured his name, and with just one word, you told him that whatever it was, it wasn’t stupid, that he could tell you, and that you weren’t going anywhere. Getting Roger to talk about his feelings was always like pulling teeth. You smiled, and told him so, knowing he’d appreciate the joke. You were relieved when he finally cracked a real smile.

If you were anyone else, he might’ve pushed you away. He knew that. You did too, but you couldn’t have known just how much you really meant to him. Not then, not at seventeen, just a kid.

Even Roger couldn’t understand the extent of it. With anyone else, talking about what he felt was like thrusting his fist against a splintering wood fence. With you, it was as easy and as natural as breathing, as the tide on the shore, the sun that warmed your skin.

“I don’t want to spend my life… Bored to tears. Stuck in a little town, not going anywhere. The same things, day after day.” Roger twisted his mouth, shaking his head. “I don’t want to be some sad middle-aged man sat in an armchair, watching bloody Coronation Street on a Friday night.”

A fearful pang reverberated in your chest, a sickening tug in your stomach. You knew exactly what he meant but at the same time, you couldn’t understand it at all. 

It saddened you that he felt that way, that he couldn’t see himself the way you did. But you were angry too, angry that he seemed to think himself so much better than the people that had raised you, your parents, your teachers, your friends. And, more than anything, you were worried that he included you amongst their apparent monotony.

“I don’t think it’s so little,” you said quietly. You looked away, following the edge of the cliff as it curved around out of sight. “This town. Or a life like that.”

Roger shifted beside you and then you felt his arm wrap around your shoulders. He pulled you closer, your side pressed against his. You could feel the warmth of his body through his clothes. He was always so warm.

“I don’t mean it like that.”

As he murmured by your ear, you felt his long eyelashes brush your skin, then his forehead pressed against your temple before he pulled in a deep breath and rested his head on your shoulder, gazing up at you. 

You laughed at him, your silly best friend. It didn’t occur to you that the thudding of your heart could be caused by anything other than the relief of knowing that he was alright.

“What do you mean, then, idiot?”

“I mean…” Roger elbowed your ribs, making you laugh softly and shove him back in retaliation. His smile soon faded. He wrinkled his nose, turning to look away for a moment, before he said, “Just always thought I’d be something more, you know?”

It was only late afternoon but you had to go soon. Yours and Roger’s mothers were throwing a party to celebrate your results. It was going to be an exhausting day but it was kind of them. If you didn’t leave soon, they’d be wondering where you were. You both knew it, but you also knew, without speaking a word, that you wanted, needed, to stay here in this moment, in this other Eden, just a little while longer. It was painfully obvious that it might be the last time.

“You still going Queen Mary’s?” Roger said after a few minutes.

You nodded, smiling. “Maybe I’ll see you on University Challenge.” His grin in response could’ve brightened the darkening sky. “I’ll miss you.”

“Nah, I bet you’re glad to see the back of me.”

“Yeah, been trying to get rid of you for years.” You spread your arms out wide, letting the strong wind hold them up for you. “Finally, I’m free!” You dropped your arms again and found Roger gazing at you with a smile. He looked tired, sad, but alright. You knew the feeling all too well. 

You were both quiet again for a moment. You watched the breeze play with Roger’s stupid, fluffy, lovely hair, lemon-yellow in the sunlight.

You sighed, and then, “When will you be back?”

* * *

The Driftwood Spars looked exactly the same as he left it. Roger looked around the dimly-lit room with an odd, sentimental fondness. 

He’d grown up in this pub. He could measure his life in darts games. He could remember sitting in his father’s lap as he told a story that made all his friends laugh, giving Roger sips of their drinks when he got a little older. 

His family would do the quiz every Saturday night. They never won anything but it never dampened their spirits. He had his first drink at that table, and his first fight in that corner. 

He remembered ordering the same meal every time he came. He remembered the warm glow from his first pint. He remembered sitting at the bar on the night he and his parents moved here, to this little town by the sea, far, far away from his old friends and the little square of land that had made up his whole world.

It was good to be home. 

“Rog?”

The voice echoed through his head but he barely registered it, too lost in his own memories. 

“Rog!”

Finally, Roger broke free of his thoughts. He looked over at the stage where Brian had a face like thunder. 

“You gonna help set up or what?”

Begrudgingly, Roger slid off the bar. With his hands in his pockets, he sloped over to the stage, raised just a foot or so off the sticky ground. 

Freddie sat on the edge of the platform, picking anxiously at the front of his gilded jacket. Beside him, long legs bent almost up to his knees, John was plucking at his bass, tuning it for about the fourth time.

“What’s wrong with him?” 

“He’s nervous about the show.” John glanced back at Brian, who was talking to the landlord. He still felt like the new boy and was conscious of stepping on anyone’s toes.

Roger frowned. “What’s he got to be nervous about?”

“It cost a lot to get down here. If they don’t pay us, we’re buggered.”

“They’ll pay us,” Freddie assured them.

He put on a good show of confidence but his heart was thrumming in his chest. Nervous as he was about the performance, Freddie believed in them. They would put on a show, the likes of which these people had never seen. They just had to be themselves.

Freddie grinned. “But not if you don’t set up your bloody drum kit.”

Roger groaned, but did as he was asked.

It didn’t take long for the pub to fill up. The Driftwood Spars was famous for its live music every Monday night. Roger had come to the free dances almost every week since he could remember. He didn’t do much dancing in those days, too cool to put himself out there, but he remembered the way you would stand in the middle of the dance floor, eyes locked on his, and dance like a maniac just to make him laugh until eventually, he had to join you. You always managed to make him feel better, you always made him happy.

“For one night! And one night only!”

Roger smiled into his drink, taking a moment to savour the sound of his favourite voice, before turning around on his stool. 

For a moment, he truly believed you were a figment of his imagination, as if just thinking about you was enough to summon you here. It wouldn’t be the first time. Roger thought about you so often, he’d lost count of how many times he’d been sat in a lecture and thought he saw you sitting two rows away from him, or heard your voice calling his name in the hallway. 

But no, this was real, you were here, walking towards him with a smile so wide that for a minute, he forgot his nerves about performing tonight, he forgot that he hadn’t spoken to you in months, he forgot he’d ever been away.

“The Devil on the Drums. The Star of the South West. The Cornish King himself. The great Roger Taylor.” You grinned. “And Queen.”

He knew seeing you again would make his heart stumble, but Roger couldn’t have anticipated the almost sickening lurch in his chest when you smiled at him, practically glowing in the low light. 

You looked a little different. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly, you hadn’t changed much. Perhaps your hair was a little shorter, your clothes a bit more adventurous. With another painful wrench in his chest, Roger realised he kept expecting to see the young girl who’d wait for him at the school gates, gap-toothed and scruffy, one sock rolled down to your ankle, hair slipping out of your bunches. You’d changed. And so had he.

Roger slid off the barstool and swept you up in his arms, practically squeezing the breath out of your lungs. He lifted you off the ground as he hugged you so tight, you could feel each other’s laughter rumbling in your chests. It had been far too long.

He eventually put you down but his hands immediately found your shoulders, keeping that contact for as long as possible. 

“I didn’t know you’d be here!”

“I shouldn’t be, I’ve got exams in two weeks. But your mum sent me this in the post.” You pulled a folded piece of paper out of your pocket, holding it up for him to see. “How could I resist?”

Roger groaned. “No, she hasn’t.” 

He flattened out the paper to find it was a flyer for their show tonight. In bold letters, the words ‘The legendary drummer of Cornwall’ were printed under the pub’s name. Underneath, in much larger letters, was his name, then in small type again, ‘and Queen’. His mother had booked the small pub, just one stop of many on their ‘Cornish Tour’. Either he’d managed to build a reputation for himself without knowing it, or she’d made the ad too.

Roger folded it back up again, barely stopping himself from tearing it into shreds. “That’s so embarrassing.”

You carefully took back the flyer, oddly protective of it. “It’s sweet.”

“I’ll have a word with her.”

“They’re all over Truro, good luck tearing them all down. I’m gonna have mine framed.”

Roger grinned and took the ad back before you could protest. He leaned over the bar to grab a pen from the till then scrawled his name across the bottom of the flyer.

“There you are. Sell it when I’m famous.”

You gave him a rueful smile. “But aren’t you already famous? Er…” You held up the paper and ran your finger under the first line. “‘Legendary Drummer of Cornwall’?”

“Listen, right-”

“Rog?”

The spell was broken. Your smile faded as you saw Roger’s body tense, like he’d allowed himself to slip back into his old life and the new voice had reminded him that he was someone else now.

You looked over his shoulder to find two young men, about your age, the taller of who had called Roger’s name.

“Oh, these are my friends, the rest of the band.” Roger pointed out each of them in turn as a third man joined them. “That’s Brian, and that’s Freddie, and this is John. Deaky.”

They all seemed surprisingly reserved for boys in a rock band. Brian loomed over you, lanky and smiley, while John hid behind his long hair, his shy smile just shining through.

Freddie had one arm crossed over his chest, brushing his thumb under his eye with the other to swipe away any stray liner. It was him who spoke first, offering you a broad smile.

“Are you staying for the show?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You beamed up at Roger. “You know, he used to play the ukulele in a band when we were little. What was it called again?”

Cheeks a little pink, Roger shrugged. “Don’t remember.”

You felt a swell of pride as the memory surface in your mind, of Roger and a few of your friends gathered in his dad’s garage, trying to dissect songs they’d heard on the radio, learning how to play them piece by piece.

“Oh! The Bubblingover Boys, that’s right.”

“Alright, I was seven.”

“And then there was that one from school. What was that called?”

Roger hesitated, glancing at his friends, before mumbling, “Reaction.” 

“They were good.” You told the rest of the band, who were all smiling now too. “I liked that one. He played guitar then.”

Brian raised his eyebrows. “Better leave that to me, eh, Rog?” 

Roger sneered but his retort was cut off by the landlord. He called to them from the bar, jabbing his thumb towards the stage in the back. They were on in five.

Excitement and nerves coiled round each other like writhing snakes in the pit of your stomach. You hadn’t seen Roger play in years. Too long. You knew he’d be wonderful, knew these boys must also be good because Roger never settled for less than the best. No, no, you weren’t worried about him.

It was the tremendous ache in your chest as Roger turned to follow his friends towards the stage without saying goodbye that left you feeling sick to your stomach. It was only when Freddie called back over his shoulder, saying it was nice to meet you, that Roger seemed to remember you were there. 

You’d been an afterthought before. Never did you think it would come from him. 

Roger slipped his hand inside the collar of his shirt, kneading his fingers into the skin above his racing heart, “Listen, are you free afterwards?”

You summoned a smile, hoping he wouldn’t notice how weak it was in the low light. “My train’s not till tomorrow afternoon, so I’m all yours till then.”

“Sounds good.” He made to walk away again but stopped, looking you up and down. His fingers drummed against his thigh, anxious, unsure. “You look good, by the way.”

“Good?” 

Roger seemed just as surprised by the compliment as you were. 

“Just… You know, you look nice.”

“You this smooth with the girls in London?”

You grinned at him and like that, he was back. He was your Roger again. The boy who saved up all his pocket money to help pay for a window you shattered while playing a game he’d devised. The boy who let you stand on his shoulders to reach the apples hanging enticingly low from a tree at the end of your road, and who took the blame when the neighbour came running out, furious.

“There’s no one in London like you,” Roger said, eyes shining in the low light. “Or anywhere.”

That smile of his. You wished you could frame it, bottle it. It made the corners of his mouth crease, his nose wrinkle. A real smile, not the faux one he took out and put on for photos, or people he didn’t really like, or his family when he wasn’t in the mood. It was authentic, familiar like it was a part of you, and although you didn’t know it yet, completely and utterly yours. 

“Go on, drummer boy.” You squeezed the top of his arm, letting the silk material of his shirt slip through your fingers like water. 

He gave you one last sweet grin, then went to join his friends. 

You enjoyed the show. Even though you were almost immediately swallowed up by a crowd of kids a few years younger than you, you had a good view of the stage. 

Freddie was a fantastic performer. His voice so powerful, it hit the back wall, making you feel like your feet weren’t touching the ground. 

Beside him, Brian was so conversely still as he played, it was almost funny. His face was stern and focused but whenever Freddie crossed his path, he’d shoot his friend a little grin, always making sure to play a little louder.

Deaky bobbed his head as he played. He seemed to be in his own little world but he kept time so perfectly, the deep voice of the bass reverberating through you. He kept watching Roger, but not nearly as much as you.

The room thrummed as the song reached its height. All around you, people swayed and danced, arms in the air, smiles broad, sweat coating their skin. You tried to convince yourself it was them and the pounding beat that was making you feel dizzy. But you could lie to your friends, you could lie to Roger, much as you hated doing so, but you couldn’t lie to yourself.

You had to arch your neck to see him, over the crowd and through the rest of the band, but Roger still managed to make your head spin. His hands flew across the drums, moving so quickly and so precisely. You felt every beat until you weren’t sure if it was him or your own heart you could hear pounding in your ears.

You couldn’t keep your eyes off him, off the sheen of sweat that made his bare chest and arms shine, the way his hair moved whenever he threw his head back, the way his spine arched, his mouth open, eyes dark. You swallowed, face flushed, pressing your thighs together. 

Roger caught your eye from across the room. For a moment, you thought he’d look away again but he seemed to change his mind at the last moment. He held your gaze, then he grinned wickedly, and went back to playing, hitting the drums even harder than before, spinning the sticks between his fingers, showing off now that he knew he had your attention.

When they finally finished their set, you realised you’d been holding your breath for so long, your lungs were starting to ache. You pulled in a long breath, brushing your damp hair back from your forehead. 

All around you, people were applauding and screaming, cupping their hands around their mouths as they cheered. Someone even threw their hat on stage, a floppy beach hat with a bow on it, and Freddie caught it with one hand, dropping it on top of his head with a pleased little smile. 

You waited by the bar, your stomach still tight with nerves. You shouldn’t assume that Roger would come straight to you. He probably had other friends he wanted to hang out with tonight, he might even have been invited to some fantastic after-party. He had no reason to want to spend the rest of the night with you.

In all honesty, you were glad of the wait. It gave you a chance to catch your breath, to clear your head. You could still see the sheen of sweat on Roger’s skin as he played, the way his lips parted, that focused frown on his face. You wanted him to look at you with the same intensity, wanted to make his lips part just like that again, but as you made him sigh your name. 

The thought stunned you. You’d never looked at Roger like that before. Or maybe you had and just hadn’t noticed, or you’d played it off as some other platonic feeling. Either way, you could still feel the heat pooled between your thighs, making you squirm on the bar stool. You downed your drink, hoping that would help cool you down.

You waited for ten minutes, which turned into twenty. You knew the band was probably still getting changed or packing away their equipment, but you couldn’t help worrying he might’ve left without saying goodbye. 

Just as you were about to give in, Brian came weaving through the crowds towards you. You gave him an anaemic smile as he approached, thinking he’d come to say goodbye. But no, he’d finished changing first so Roger had asked him to make sure you hadn’t left yet, and to keep you company until he was finished getting ready.

Brian brought you a drink, even though you protested.

“I should be getting in the first round, you’re the guest.” 

Brian merely shrugged. “They actually paid us this time. It’s a turn up for the books. The drinks are definitely on me.”

You stayed at the bar so that the others could find you easily, you swirling a non-alcoholic cider around in your glass because you would be driving later, and Brian nursing the cheapest beer they had on tap. They had been paid, yes, but not a fortune and only after a considerable amount of arguing. 

As you were both university students, you talked about the only thing you knew you knew you had in common, your degrees. It was all you ever seemed to talk about these days. You dreaded the day you left uni and you had to think of some other conversation starter.

Brian asked about your course and you explained your modules, not going into too much detail. It wasn’t much fun to talk shop with someone who had no interest in the subject but Brian was a good listener and you had more in common than you thought.

“But I’m thinking of minoring in astronomy, so…” You sipped your drink, glancing over his shoulder when you thought you saw Roger walking your way. 

It turned out to be just another blonde. In fact, it was a boy you knew from school. You hid behind your glass, not wanting to make your anxiety worse with awkward small talk. You were so busy hiding, you only caught the end of Brian’s sentence. 

“That’s really interesting, I’m thinking about doing my thesis on, uh, radial velocities in the zodiacal dust cloud.”

You laughed, assuming he was kidding. When Brian blinked at you, you laughed again. But he still looked confused. 

“You’re not a dentist?”

“What?” Brian laughed. “No.”

It was your turn to be confused. “Sorry, I thought… What uni are you at?”

“Imperial College.”

“So how did you meet Roger?”

“He got bored of dentistry, apparently. He does Biology at the Polytechnic.” Brian frowned. “Didn’t he tell you?”

Sadness sat in the pit of your stomach like a stone. That anxious doubt you had felt earlier was back, creeping across your skin like cold water. 

“No,” you said quietly, just as Roger appeared through a doorway in the back of the pub. “No, he didn’t.”

You stayed quiet as Roger and his friends made their way towards you. Poor Brian looked so uncomfortable, you thought he might fall off his stool. Neither of you said anything as Deaky and Freddie bracketed you, John immediately catching the attention of the girl behind bar. 

Roger stood close by you, so close you could see a bead of sweat slipping down his neck. You watched it disappear inside the collar of his shirt as he said, 

“You wanna get out of here?”

He said goodbye to his friends quickly and with very little ceremony. You thought perhaps that meant you were only going for a short walk and he intended to meet them back at the pub. But Roger patted his pockets for his wallet and keys before you left, and made sure that his drums were safely stored in the back of their battered old van, something he wouldn’t have been so careful about if you were just ducking out for a few minutes.

Roger needed some fresh air. His skin was burning after the set, all he wanted was to relax and rest his aching muscles, preferably with a drink and his best friend. 

You spoke quietly as you walked side by side to the edge of the cove. The Driftwood Spars sat just a stone’s throw away from the edge of the sea. It was dark, the only light came from the pub windows and the occasional passing car, but you braved the little incline until you could sit on the edge of the ancient rock, legs dangling over the side. 

Roger slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and brought out two packets, some salt and vinegar crisps from the bar, and a box of cigarettes. Something else he’d picked up and not told you about. 

He offered you a cigarette. You shook your head and took the crisps instead.

“You played really well tonight.” 

Roger smiled to himself. “S’funny. I think that was our first perfect show. I’m glad you were there to see it.”

His words made your chest squeeze. You felt like you’d swallowed a box of fireworks, even though you couldn’t understand why. You liked that Roger wanted you to see him perform. You liked that he wanted you to be proud of him. And you were, you were so proud it defied words. So you resorted to the language you were both fluent in, the way you’d spoken to each other since you were kids.

“I’m not saying it was perfect cos I was there, but…” You grinned at him and Roger scoffed.

“You might’ve helped.” He nudged your ribs, laughing softly when you shoved him right back. 

He caught your hand as you dove for him again, holding it tight so you couldn’t get away, even if you wanted to. Moments passed, and he still didn’t let go. His palms and the pads of his fingers were rough, sore, you thought, from clutching the drumsticks so tight. They were warm against yours, so much bigger, his long fingers encompassing yours. You found yourself wanting to kiss them better.

There was a ring on his right hand now, his father’s. The way your hands had fallen, it rested against the fourth finger on your left hand. The sight made you shiver. 

“I’ve missed you,” Roger said quietly. 

You looked up from your hands and found he was smiling at you. He looked so different, less boyish than you were used to, but still sweet. 

“I’ve missed you too.” You couldn’t resist brushing his damp hair out of his eyes with your free hand. “You need a haircut.”

Roger had to bite back a groan as your fingers slipped through his hair, almost moaning when you got caught in the tangles formed while he was drumming. 

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I like it, you’re just looking a little scruffy.”

You let your hand smooth down the side of his face, brushing your thumb over the ridge of his eyebrow, across his cheek, and along his jaw until his face rested in the palm of your hand. Roger hummed, closing his eyes for just a moment. 

You laughed gently, watching as his smile grew then he opened his eyes again. He leaned into your hand, sighing softly. His eyes were so bright, so full of life, but tired too. They were the only thing about him that hadn’t changed at all.

You blinked and Roger was leaning closer. His gaze had dropped to your mouth, his smile slowly disappearing. You realised he was still holding your hand, his thumb smoothing back and forth across your skin. 

You let him move closer, letting your heart take control for once in your life. But then you caught the scent of him, like cigarette smoke and sweat. It blanketed the smell you were used to. He didn’t look the same, didn’t dress the same, he didn’t even smell the same. 

You remembered how he had held himself so differently around his friends. You remembered what Brian had said about him changing unis. You thought about the feelings that had burned your blood, not feelings you ever thought you would associate with Roger. It made you falter, your heart stumbling, and as he dipped his head, your hand fell from his face and you laughed nervously, leaning away from him.

“God, you’re not gonna kiss me are you, Rog?”

His gaze snapped back up to meet yours. Cold dread settled in your stomach when you saw a flash of hurt, then fear in his bright blue eyes. He didn’t laugh. 

You licked your lips, your next teasing words dying in your throat. “Roger?”

He sat back, shoulders hunched and tensed. Roger’s hand slipped from yours and when he spoke again, he didn’t look at you.

“Thought never crossed my mind,” he said quietly. 

The silence that followed was agonising. Something was wrong. You used to be able to read each other with ease and now you couldn’t get past the guarded look in his eyes. Roger looked embarrassed and just as confused as you felt. 

With a sickening jolt, you realised what you’d done, how stupid you’d been. You couldn’t get his face out of your head, the hurt in his eyes when you laughed and moved away from him, and worse, you realised that you wouldn’t mind if he did want to kiss you. You wouldn’t mind at all. 

Panic gripped you, stealing your words, and your breath, and all sense of what to do next. You were still trying to think of something to say when Roger laughed, short, terse, scornful, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened either. 

Then, almost angrily, he said, “What’s going on with you?”

You twisted your mouth, suddenly uncomfortable. It was the first time you’d ever felt like strangers. “You’ve changed.”

“What you on about?” Roger scoffed, stubbing out his cigarette on the rock beneath you. “I haven’t changed.”

“You used to tell me things. We used to know everything about each other.”

“We still do!”

“You changed unis without telling me!”

That got him. 

Roger blinked, wondering how and when you’d found out. He flushed, shaking his head. “S’boring, you don’t wanna know about that.”

“You changed your _degree_.”

Roger’s face was still burning from your reaction. All he could see was the way your nose had wrinkled, all he could hear was how you’d laughed at him, the shock in your eyes, the disappointment in your voice. 

“S’not important. Do you want me to write to you about every tiny little thing in my life?”

You scoffed. “That’d be a turn up for the books considering you barely write at all.”

“We’ve been busy with this album.”

“Album?”

“Me and the lads. It’s almost done.”

“You’re making an album?” You shook your head, confused. “What about school?”

Roger laughed but it wasn’t a nice laugh, not his usual bright, happy, gorgeous, almost like sunshine laugh that you were so honoured to be used to. 

“You sound like my mother,” he said, going for another cigarette but stopping when he saw the look on your face.

The air had shifted again. 

You were quiet for a moment, then you murmured, “I didn’t realise it was so serious.”

“It is. We are.”

“I’m happy for you, then.” You gave him a weak smile, gently nudging his arm. “Remember me when you’re famous, yeah?”

Roger met your gaze again. When he smiled at last, the creases by the corners of his mouth made your chest squeeze. 

You thought about kissing him, what it would feel like, what he might do with his hands, if his lips were as soft as they looked. 

“How could I forget about you?” he said softly.

You were back to the way things were. Except… Except you weren’t. You had fought before, countless times, from stupid spats that were solved quickly to full-on arguments that meant you didn’t talk to each other for a day. 

But a day was all you could ever handle. After that, one of you would always break, and you would be back to annoying each other like nothing had happened. In those days, neither of you ever apologised. You’d never hurt each other so badly that you felt the need to. You just moved on, forgetting whatever it was you’d been fighting about almost immediately. 

It was happening now. Roger had already decided he was over it. He wasn’t angry with you, he just wanted to move on. But you felt two steps behind. You knew something was wrong but you couldn’t figure out what. You had always been two halves of the same whole but now you felt disconnected, there was a piece missing, a loose wire. It left you feeling cold inside, and lonely as a star. 

“D’you fancy chips?” Roger asked after a few minutes of contemplative silence. “I want chips. Let’s get chips.”

You nodded faintly, trying to summon some warmth back into your smile. “Okay.”

* * *

That night, alone in your childhood bedroom, you couldn’t think of anything but Roger. That wasn’t unusual; you thought about him most of the time. He’d been in your life for so long, longer than you could remember, he was part of you now. Maybe that was why it hurt so much. 

He was all over your room. He was in the tin cans by your window, connected by a string long enough to reach his house across the road. You’d talked all night with it, whispering down the line, telling scary stories and jokes or just dictating to each other from whatever you were reading at the time.

He was in the collages of photographs that bloomed on your walls, some so old and faded that you could barely see them anymore, sun-bleached and spotted but still far too important to lose. There was one from your last day of secondary school, Roger’s arm slung around your shoulders, still in your horrible old uniforms. There was another of your seventh birthday party, when you’d shared the day despite your birthdays being a few months apart. You just wanted to celebrate with each other.

He was in the curtains you’d accidentally pulled down while playing one winter, and the springs in your bed you’d worn away from jumping, and the papier-mâché moon on your dresser that you’d made together on a rainy day.

You thought about him a lot. But now instead of your childhood best friend, all you could see were the beads of sweat slipping down his bare chest, the smell of his aftershave still sticking to your skin. 

Bottom lip caught between your teeth, you let your mind wander to the way he’d looked at you just before he tried to kiss you, his soft, raspy voice filling your ears as he murmured your name.

With a groan, you threw down the clothes you were supposed to be unpacking, letting them sprawl across your mattress as you sank down to the floor with a sigh.

Thoughts rattled through your head. This was _Roger_ you were talking about. It didn’t make any logical sense to you. But it wasn’t logical, that was the problem. Before your brain had caught up with your body, you had wanted him to kiss you. 

He looked so good on that stage, twirling the sticks between his long fingers. Roger Meddows Taylor, all slim lines and taut muscle, oozing confidence, so smart and so cool, the boy all the girls wanted. And he… He wanted you.

Groaning softly, you pressed your face into your palms, pulling in a long breath that did little to ease the anxious knot in your stomach. 

“Shit.”

* * *

The grimy, orange softness of a London evening warmed your skin as you crossed the street to Roger’s flat. Your bags thumped against your calves, tripping you every few steps. 

You hadn’t seen him in months but you suddenly woke up yesterday morning with this idea in your head that you should surprise him. You and Roger talked when you could but it wasn’t the same. You needed to hear his voice, feel his arms around you, especially today, the most important day of the year. 

You struggled up the flights and flights of stairs, searching for the door number your mother had passed on from Roger’s mother. When you finally found the right flat, you unceremoniously dropped your bags to the floor and knocked hurriedly, excited to see your friend after so long.

The door swung open and your broad smile slipped. It wasn’t Roger. It wasn’t even Freddie. A young woman had answered the door. She looked frazzled, like you’d interrupted her in the middle of something. 

“Oh.” You took a nervous half-step backwards, clutching the handle of your bag a little tighter. “Hi. Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was- I thought-” You glanced at the door number. “Maybe I’ve got the wrong flat.”

The girl smiled. “You looking for Roger?”

That made you pause. You wondered how she’d known, if Roger had talked about you before or if it was just a safe assumption. Maybe Roger had girls turning up at his door every day of the week.

“Yeah, I’m- I’m his best friend.” You frowned. “Or I was, we haven’t spoken in a while. Not properly, anyway. We write but it’s hard. I’m doing my masters in Aberdeen so it’s…”

The girl blinked at you and you flushed, realising you’d been rambling. Then you saw that she had one of Roger’s jumpers tied around her waist, black and soft and almost as old as its owner. He wore it so often that his mother had to sew patches on the elbows and replace the hem twice. Roger loved that jumper more than he liked most people. And she was wearing it.

“I was just gonna…” Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth but you pushed on, suddenly feeling so small and lost, you just wanted to crawl into bed and stay there till this feeling, whatever it was, went away. “I wanted to surprise him. You know, for his birthday.”

The girl cocked her head to the side, surprised. “I didn’t know it was his birthday.”

That made your gut twist. This girl knew Roger, she was in his flat, she was wearing his favourite jumper, but she didn’t know what day it was. 

The anger broiling in your chest slowly fizzled out until nothing remained but an overwhelming, cold emptiness. You’d made a mistake coming here, you could see that now. If Roger had wanted to see his little friend from home, he would’ve said so.

You thought about how you must seem to this tall, beautiful city girl, and felt like an idiot. You were an embarrassing, over-eager little kid, desperate to cling onto the one person in your life who’d ever made you feel important. This was all a stupid mistake. 

“I’ll just go,” you said quietly, already turning to leave, but the girl waved her hand at you. 

“Nah, you’re alright.” She turned and grabbed her bag from an armchair sat close to the door. “I’ve gotta go to work but you can hang out here if you like. Freddie’s in his room. You know Freddie?” When you nodded, she smiled. “Great. See ya.” 

The girl slipped past you into the hall, leaving the door open for you. She only stopped when she remembered that she still had Roger’s jumped wrapped around her. 

“Oh, can you give him this?” 

She tugged at the sleeves, undoing the knot with so little care that it made you gut twist. She pushed it into your hands, giving you a fleeting smile.

You watched her walk away then looked down at the jumper in your hands. It was just as soft as you remembered. With a smile, you turned it over, wondering if perhaps… Yes. There, on the inside label, Roger’s mum had written his name in blue ballpoint pen. You ran your thumb over the faded letters. You’d missed him so much.

“Oh, Christ!”

You jumped about a foot in the air. Clutching your chest, you turned to find Freddie standing in the living room, eyes wide.

“God, you frightened the life out of me. I almost jumped out of my skin.” 

“Sorry.” You winced. You’d only been here five minutes and you’d already apologised about a hundred times. “Thought I’d pop down and surprise Rog.”

Freddie nodded to the open door. “She let you in?”

The disdain in his voice was clear as day. You made a sympathetic noise, moving further into the flat after you’d shut the door behind you. “Not a friend of yours?”

“She’s been over a few times but I don’t think he sees much in her.”

“Does he have-” You hesitated, not sure if you actually wanted to ask, but you couldn’t help yourself, curiosity and jealousy loosening your tongue. “Does he have a lot of girls over?”

Freddie laughed, “Not nearly as many as he’d have you believe.” 

He offered to help you carry your bags of food to the tiny kitchen, shouting directions to Roger’s bedroom over his shoulder.

Behind the first door leading off from the hall, Roger’s bedroom looked much the same as his one back home in Truro, a little messy, very boyish, but ultimately, just very him. There were clothes all over the floor like he’d got dressed in a hurry that morning, and his window was wide open, letting in some cool air.

You walked further into the room and dropped your small bag on his bed. You only intended to stay one night, you would be getting a train down to Truro in the morning. When you told your family that you would be dropping by Roger’s flat on your way, they were surprised. You hadn’t mentioned him in months, not since… 

You huffed to yourself and shut his window for him. You hadn’t talked about Roger to anyone but that didn’t mean you hadn’t thought about him every single day. 

You sighed, looking down at his bedside table. A picture frame sat amongst the junk, the only photo Roger had in his room. You gingerly picked it up, trying not to unbalance the plaited leather and beaded bracelets that he’d slung over the corner. 

Careful not to smear the glass with your fingerprints, you gazed at the happy scene, now captured forever. It was you and Roger, just a few years ago now but it felt like forever. You were sitting on the garden wall outside his house, legs swinging, the summer before you left for uni.

You let your gaze travel over your own bright, smiling face before you finally allowed yourself to look at him. You hadn’t expected the clench in your heart to be quite so powerful. Seeing Roger again, it brought everything back. All the pain and sadness you’d managed to suppress was loose again and stronger than ever. God, you missed him. Just seeing his face nearly brought you to tears. You both looked so happy, so close.

You were brought out of your memories by the sound of Freddie calling your name. You carefully put the photo frame back down and turned to find him shrugging on his jacket in the doorway.

“I’m surprised you remember my name,” you admitted.

You’d listened to Roger talk about his amazing new friend for hours, Freddie Mercury, the kid he ran a stall with in the market, who had a voice that could shake the world, and who proposed they live together while they both figured out what they wanted to do after uni.

His clothes were so bright and colourful, the way he held himself so refined and regal. You didn’t think someone like Freddie would remember someone like you in a hurry. But he laughed.

“Not bloody likely, the way Roger goes on about you.” He missed your flushed face as he turned to check his reflection in the mirror beside the door. “I’ve got to go, I’m having dinner with friends. Will you be alright here by yourself?”

Freddie let you have free roam of the flat. Roger wouldn’t be home till at least seven, so you had plenty of time to set up the somewhat meagre decorations you managed to grab on your way here before the shops closed. 

When you were finished, you looked around, feeling a little underwhelmed. It seemed like a lot more when you were trying to stuff it into your bags. Chewing on your lip, you hoped it would be enough. Thank God Freddie had some taste and had decorated the flat as best he could with their limited funds. 

You knew it was a mistake, but you ended up back in Roger’s room, perching on the end of his bed. You felt weird standing in the living room alone. If you’d frightened Freddie just by standing in the doorway, you’d probably give poor Roger a heart attack if he found you waiting for him in the dark. 

You slipped on the jumper that girl had thrown to you, pulling it on over your clothes to keep yourself warm. Roger didn’t let people borrow his clothes often, so it was always a nice surprise when he allowed you to steal his jumper, his favourite and yours too. It had been a few years since you last wore it but it still smelt the same, still felt just as soft and comfortable as you remembered.

Soon the stress of your journey caught up with you and your tired muscles persuaded you into lying down on the bed, wearily pulling the duvet over you, promising yourself you were just closing your eyes for a minute or two.

Hours passed but it felt like nothing to you. You were finally pulled from your dreams when you felt the mattress dip, and you were cold for just a moment as someone lifted the duvet. You almost complained but your words melted on your tongue when you felt a familiar warmth against your skin, the smell of him, of home, all around you.

You cracked open one eye. Though your vision was bleary, you would know him anywhere. “Roger.”

He looked exhausted. You lifted your head, about to apologise for falling asleep, for ruining the surprise, ready to ask him about his day, but then you realised he was wearing his glasses. He was home, he was safe and comfortable. You didn’t want to talk about the outside world, you just wanted it to be him and you for a little while longer.

“Not the girl I was expecting to find in my bed when I got back but I’m not complaining.” 

You gave a breathy laugh, pushing your face into the pillow for a moment to hide your pink cheeks. But his words struck a chord, your chest tightening as you looked up at him again.

“She seemed nice,” you said quietly. 

Something shifted in Roger’s face. His soft smile, so delicate in the moonlight, turned downwards at the corners, just for a second, but you were close enough to catch every moment of it. 

“She’s, erm…” 

His gaze lowered, lingering somewhere near the collar of your shirt while his long fingers fidgeted with the bedsheet. Then whatever it was that had clouded his thoughts disappeared again, pushed to the back of his mind for later, and his gentle smile was back. 

“What are you doing here? Not that it’s not brilliant to see you, cos it is. I just thought you were in Scotland.”

“I was. Came down ‘specially, didn’t I.”

“For me?”

His bed was small, there was barely any space between you. Another few inches and you’d be in his arms. _Which would be nice_, you thought, _it would be really nice_.

You smiled. “It’s not every day you turn twenty-three.”

Roger’s expression shifted again but this time, a flash of light in his eyes made your heartbeat quicken. The exhaustion in his face was gone, whatever it was that creased his forehead forgotten for the moment. 

Slowly but surely, he slipped his arm over your waist, gently pulling you closer until your chest was pressed against his. You could feel your own heart thudding against your ribs but strangely enough, you found you weren’t afraid. You adored the closeness, you adored him.

As Roger turned onto his back, you rested your head on his chest, the silk of his shirt warm against your cheek. You tucked your head under his chin, turning your face to breathe him in, all shyness and awkwardness gone. You couldn’t understand it, how a person could make you feel so at home, even after everything that had happened, after months without seeing each other.

Roger closed his eyes, wrinkling his nose when they stung with exhaustion. He’d been at work all day. He hadn’t even been able to talk to his parents for more than a few minutes when they rang that morning to say happy birthday. He’d trudged home in a daze, just wanting to crawl into bed until this day was over, but then he saw the balloons in his kitchen, the banner over the door, and you in his bed, and his heart lifted, all his sadness and loneliness gone in an instant. You were here. You were here.

Roger desperately needed sleep but all he wanted was to keep talking to you. A small part of him couldn’t believe this was real, that you were in his bed and wearing his clothes, but no, it was you, you and your gentle, sleepy smile, your kind eyes, your smell, your soft skin. You, nothing but you.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

He whispered the words into your hair. You shivered, closing your eyes as you let yourself melt into him. You stretched your arm across his chest, tucking your fingertips underneath his back, holding him close.

Roger finally began to breathe easily again. Your face was pressed into his shoulder, the length of your body against his side. When you hummed happily, he closed his eyes. All he could think to do was kiss the top of your head, whispering those same words again, _‘I’ve missed you’._

You were quiet for a moment, just listening to each other breathing slowly in and out. An ambulance siren echoed in the distance, the busy London streets still alive despite the late hour, but here it was dark, and warm, and comfortable, and it was just the two of you.

You could feel Roger’s heart beating under the palm of your hand. You focused on that and nothing else, closing your eyes, trying to push all your sad thoughts away. But they still sat there at the back of your mind, scratching away until you had to say something.

“She didn’t know it was your birthday.”

Roger didn’t say anything for a moment. Your heart thrummed so fast, you thought it might give up altogether. He rested his chin on top of your head, closing his eyes, then, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it,

“No.”

You raised your head from his chest, meeting his gaze. “Freddie didn’t mention it either.” When Roger glanced away, your face fell. “You haven’t told anyone.”

Roger sighed, and you were so close that you felt your whole body move up and down with his as he pulled in a deep breath and slowly let it go again.

“He knows but I didn’t wanna make a fuss. Nobody’s really got any money at the moment and I didn’t feel like celebrating so…”

His voice was so soft, you had to strain to hear it even though the room was perfectly silent.

“Should I not have come?” you murmured. “I was worried it was a bit much, turning up out of the blue like that.”

Roger hummed, low and soft. “I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life,” he murmured, so close that you felt his breath tickle your cheek. He reached out and tucked your hair behind your ear, smiling slightly as his fingers brushed your skin.

Your heart lurched. Roger still looked tired and a little sad, but he still smiling. You didn’t think you’d seen him this happy in a long time. He was so relaxed, perfectly at ease for the first time in months, ever since he went away, ever since he last said goodbye to you. You wished you could keep it that way for him, you wished you could take away all the bad things in Roger’s life that meant he couldn’t be this happy all the time.

He met your gaze. His eyes. Such blue eyes. Blue like the sea that raised you. Blue like the skies that you gazed up at on long, lazy, hazy, summer days. Blue like the ribbons in your hair on the day you met. Blue like his first car, and the walls of both your childhood bedrooms, and the logo on the bags of chips you got every Friday. Blue like that shirt of his that was always so soft, and the flags that crisscrossed the town square, and the tiny flowers in the cracks in the concrete on the street where you both grew up.

You saw your home in his eyes. That was Roger. Home.

You realised you were staring and felt embarrassment creep over your skin. Roger was smiling at you again. Perhaps he’d noticed you drift away, or seen the memories cloud in your eyes. He was still _so_ close.

“I brought cake,” you said suddenly.

Roger laughed, bright and full, and you barely stopped yourself from rolling your eyes at yourself, but then he sighed slightly.

“God, I love you.” 

You thought he might just be teasing you, that he’d laugh again and you’d be back to the way things were. But Roger didn’t laugh, though he was smiling this soft, pensive sort of smile, his gaze on you and only you, and where you thought you’d see shyness and regret, you only saw gentleness and openness, and it made your heart pound,

“Wait here just one sec,” you said, trying not to blush like an idiot and failing miserably.

Roger raised his arm, letting you slip out from under the covers to rush into the kitchen where Freddie had so kindly put away the food you’d brought with you.

You couldn’t afford much, the wages from your part-time job could only get you so far, and most of it had gone towards the price of the train down. But you’d scraped together just enough for the decorations and most importantly, a small cake and a couple of candles.

Roger sat up as you came back into the bedroom. Reasonably, he knew you weren’t actually glowing, that the golden light surrounding you was just from the endearingly wonky candles on his endearingly wonky cake, but then you always looked like that, surrounded by lovelight, brighter than any candle.

“You brought all this down on the train with you?” he murmured, still stunned that anyone would go through all this trouble for him, especially since you hadn’t spoken properly in months now you were at the opposite end of the country, and he’d been so busy, he’d worn away the soles of his shoes.

“Don’t, it was murder getting through Waterloo with this lot,” you said, then shushed him so that you could sing for him. 

You carefully approached the bed, picking your way through the clothes and the odd drumstick strewn across the floor. As you finished singing Happy Birthday, you sank back down on the edge of the bed, holding up the cake for him to blow out his candles.

The lights danced in his eyes as he smiled, looking between you and the small chocolate cake in your hands.

“You always did have the sweetest voice.”

You tried to tell yourself that your burning face was because of the heat from the candles but even in the low light of his bedroom, you knew Roger would be able to see you were blushing.

“Make a wish!”

Roger did just that, then blew out his candles in one puff, laughing softly when you cheered.

“We haven’t got any clean plates.”

“S’alright. You got two forks?”

You disappeared and came back again with a fork for the both of you, and you sat in the middle of Roger’s bed. While you were gone, he’d reached over and put on an old Beatles record, leaving it on the lowest volume so that you could still talk quietly and he wouldn’t disturb the baby that lived in the flat next door.

He asked you about school, about your masters and how you were getting on, saying he was proud of you, and you asked him about his job and the album that he and his friends were still working on. He told you it was almost finished and laughed when you asked to hear something from it, saying he’d send you a copy when it was printed but he didn’t want any of his friends and family to hear it until it was perfect.

You made each other laugh so much, you forgot about your worries, and the distance between you, metaphorical and literal. It was like old times again. But that awful thought still sat at the back of your mind, worming its way through the happy glow that surrounded you. You almost didn’t want to bring it up again but you couldn’t forget Roger’s crestfallen expression, the weight in his voice.

“That girl.” You fiddled with your fork, batting the same bit of cake around the plate. “Are you and her..?”

“No,” Roger said firmly. “No, she actually…She finished with me last week. She was just coming to collect her stuff.”

You tried not to show how relieved you were but you thought your voice must have sounded light as air as you said, “Sorry.”

Roger shook his head. He was having trouble meeting your gaze. “Don’t be. She wasn’t…” 

You frowned, putting down your fork. “What?”

“Nothing, she just…”

He looked down at his hands. His glasses slid down his nose a little, obscuring his vision. He hardly ever wore them, he hated the way they looked, thought they didn’t fit his image, but you’d always secretly adored them. You reached up and ever-so-carefully pushed them up his nose, bringing him back to you.

You gently called his name, and Roger felt his heart ache. “It just felt like…” He scrunched up his face, embarrassed, nervous, cross with himself for getting upset. “It just felt like the only time she wanted me around was when she wanted to… Otherwise, she barely touched me.”

Roger let meaning fill the silence, feeling his face grow hot when your expression softened with realisation. He hadn’t told anyone. He wasn’t even sure what the feeling was. It had followed him all his life, girls only letting him get close when they wanted something from him, never sticking around long enough to hold him, or laugh with him, or… Love him. No one ever stayed. It terrified him, left him feeling hollow, and meant he never risked letting himself get close to anyone. It was just safer that way.

You still hadn’t said anything. He almost didn’t want to look at you, worried about what you would say, terrified that you might think he was being ridiculous, or worse, that you might laugh. He heard you draw in a sharp breath and winced but when he looked up, Roger saw your face crumple and he realised you were crying.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s-”

“I don’t- I don’t know how to-” You angrily brushed at the tears streaming down your cheeks, wishing you could put everything you felt into words but it was just too much. “I’m just- I can’t believe anyone could…”

Yours. He’d always been yours and it made you furious that anyone could treat Roger like that. You thought you were being selfish when you saw that girl leaving the flat and felt jealousy burn in your chest, you thought it was selfish to hate the idea of anyone who was less than worthy getting to touch him.

But, you thought, why couldn’t you use that anger, turn it into a shield? He was yours, you should protect him, his hopes and dreams were yours to protect too, and god forbid anyone try to take them from him. You huffed and met his gaze, feeling all the pressure that had sat in your chest over the last few years finally ease.

“It makes me furious that anyone could treat you like that. It’s not fair that- I just don’t understand how anyone couldn’t love you. And it makes me so angry that you’d be with someone who makes you feel like you’re not worth anything when you’re everything to me. I love you so much.”

Roger’s heart plummeted in his chest. He knew he was staring, he knew he should think of something to say, but his mind was a complete blank. His heart was beating so hard, he was sure you must have been able to hear it. You were staring right back at him, then your face settled into a determined frown and he saw stars.

Breathless, you held his face and pressed your lips against his, eyes squeezed shut. Your noses bumped, Roger’s fork clattering onto the plate as it fell from his hand. He made a surprised sound. His eyes were wide but by the time he realised he ought to close them, you had moved away.

Your chest rose and fell heavily, left breathless by the kiss and the overwhelming tension that had enveloped you. You bit your lip, searching his face for some kind of reaction. 

Roger’s lips were parted in silent surprise and a little pink from how hard you’d kissed him, his eyes still wide. The moon cast a silver light across his face, making him look more beautiful than ever. His eyelids fluttered as what you had just done finally seemed to sink in.

Cold dread settled in your stomach. You’d got it all wrong. You’d ruined everything. 

“Sorry,” you breathed. Your hand came up to cover your mouth, surprised at yourself. Your lips were still tingling. “Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

Before you could say another word, Roger’s hands were on either side of your face and his lips were pressed against yours. Your breath caught, your heart hammering as his nose squashed against your cheek from the force, letting out a soft whimper when he pulled away for a fraction of a second to catch his breath before going back for more, his lips moving against yours in a desperate and _long_ overdue kiss.

You finally regained control of your body and gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him even closer against you until you could hardly breathe. He tasted like home, and like the chocolate cake you’d been eating, and of something that must be him, Roger, God, _Roger_, you couldn’t get enough of him.

When he finally pulled away, he didn’t go far, pressing his forehead against yours as you both tried to catch your breath. You kept your eyes closed, just focusing on the feeling of Roger’s hands holding your face, his warm chest against yours, but you heard him give a soft chuckle.

“Blimey,” he breathed, “My wish came true.”

You opened your eyes, heart brimming. He was grinning at you, looking so stupidly happy you thought you could cry. You laughed, shaking your head with fond exasperation. “Shut up, you ber-”

He dipped his head and kissed you again, softer now. Your head was spinning, you couldn’t believe this was happening but at the same time, it felt completely right, like you’d been waiting your whole life for this without knowing it, like the missing puzzle piece had finally been slotted back into place. 

With another soft groan, Roger broke away, but his hands stayed on you the whole time, smoothing down your neck to your shoulders, then down to your hips where he stayed, just wanting to keep that contact a little while longer. His hands fit perfectly in the dips of your waist, like he was meant to hold you, like he was the only one who had the right to do so.

“How long have you..?”

You shook your head. When you spoke, your voice was low and rough and it made Roger’s stomach flip.

“I dunno. Ages, I s’pose. I just didn’t… When you came home and I realised how much I missed you, I knew it had to be…” You pressed your hands against his chest, feeling his heart pounding against your palms again. “When did you-”

“I’ve been in love with you since I was ten years old,” Roger breathed. 

His eyes were so open and warm, hopeful, adoring, and the bluest blue. You could have sworn your heart stopped, just for a moment. You stared at Roger, hardly allowing yourself to believe what you’d heard.

“Even when it was bad. Even when we argued, and I went this way and you that way. Even when you ate the last of my Jammie Dodgers on that school trip.”

Suddenly he was smiling and it took your breath away, then he gently guided you so that you were both lying on your sides, heads safely against the pillows. Roger pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, nuzzling his nose against yours.

“And the time you threw that rubber at Mr. Wilson and blamed _me_. And when you shouted at that boy who made fun of my middle name, and the time you _broke_ my _bike_. And when you pushed me down that hill, and signed my cast when I broke my arm and it said ‘Roger is an idiot’.”

As he spoke, he continued to press soft, little kisses all over your face, at your temples, your chin, the corner of your mouth, the tip of your nose, both cheeks, until you were giggling softly, your face all scrunched up.

He moved away, just far enough to meet your gaze. Roger’s hands were warm against your back, holding you against his chest. He’d let you go once, he was never making that mistake again.

“And the time I tried to kiss you after a show.” His smile turned sad, remorseful. “Guess I really am an idiot,”

“Not an idiot,” You dipped your head and kissed him softly, quickly, heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s. “Just a bit early.”

You followed his lead, peppering his face with soft kisses, moving slowly, carefully, making sure that he felt your love with every touch of your lips against his skin.

“Never been accused of that.”

You felt a low moan rumble in his chest as you kissed the corner of his broad smile, then his soft laugh as you kissed the end of his nose, huffing a soft laugh of your own when you pressed your forehead against his.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

He caught your lips with his before you could move away, chasing your kiss, just grazing his mouth against yours. You opened your eyes and saw that his were still closed, savouring the moment before he kissed you again, almost reverent. The slow, searching way that his mouth moved against yours, you knew that he felt just as desperately in love as you did. You felt more at home than you had in years.

You ran your hand along the length of his neck, then up through his hair. It felt as soft as you always thought it would, slipping between your fingers just like he almost had. You groaned as his tongue brushed your bottom lip, surprised but definitely not complaining, and pulled on his hair in response.

Roger gasped, mouth falling open as a moan slipped from him and you deepened the kiss, pressing your tongue against his, wanting to make him moan again. You could feel a hunger sitting beneath your skin. Years of suppressed feelings and the agony of knowing no one had cared for him properly before, touched him gently, loved him like he deserved, it made you want to kiss him and kiss him till he was moaning and whimpering, making him melt like you knew no one else could.

You felt it in Roger too, you could feel he was holding back, that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him, but this was so new, this was so precious, delicate. You both understood that you needed to slow down, to breathe, even though putting space between you now felt like trying to pull two magnets apart.

Roger sighed, resting his head against the pillow. There was a light in his eyes that you’d missed, a golden spark that you used to see every day when you were kids. It meant you were about to have an adventure, that he was going to look after you just like he always had. Just him and you. Just you and Roger.

His hand came up and gently brushed your hair behind your ear, letting his thumb graze across your cheek, following its path with his eyes. “There hasn’t been a moment where I haven’t loved you,” he murmured.

For a moment, you had a vision of a young boy, always an infuriating few inches taller than you, hair like sunshine and eyes like the sky. He was standing at the front gate outside your house, mischief incarnate. He held out his hand to you and you took it without hesitation.

You looked down at your hands, then back up at Roger, gorgeous, smiling, happy Roger. Your heart softened, and you squeezed his hand. You didn’t think it would be possible, but his smile grew.

When your lips met again, there was nothing rushed about it. It was gentle and slow, and so sweet, you could have cried. It was almost innocent, gentle but confident, and you knew you could get lost in the feeling forever. 

Roger let you borrow one of his old shirts to sleep in even though you’d brought your own pyjamas with you, and you both laughed when it completely swallowed you. He lifted the covers, letting you get comfortable before he tucked them around you. 

You sighed as you felt your body sink into the mattress, then Roger wrapped his arm around you until you were pressed against his side again. As he smoothed circles against your back, his other arm came round and hugged you tighter. You felt your aching heart soften as he bent his head and kissed your forehead softly.

“You know,” he said quietly. “John’s got this song. I didn’t really get it at first. Think I do now.”

You hummed, already feeling sleep stealing you away, but you summoned enough energy to ask, “What’s it called?”

“You’re My Best Friend.” Roger smiled. “I think you’d like it.”

* * *

It occurred to Roger, as he awoke the next morning, that he hadn’t slept so well in months. He resisted consciousness as best he could, not wanting to escape the warmth of his dreams, but even as he blinked open his bleary eyes, he realised he felt oddly refreshed beneath his fatigue.

He hadn’t thought to close the curtains last night and so now sunlight engulfed the room, making it even harder to keep his eyes open. Roger groaned softly, thanking God that he didn’t have to go to work today and he and the boys weren’t meeting up till the afternoon. He didn’t want to get up, he didn’t even want to move. He was perfectly happy right where he was, and all because of you.

He turned his head and saw you, his beautiful best friend. Your face was partially hidden behind the pillow but Roger could still see the curve of your lips, the faint freckles on your nose, and found himself smiling just from looking at you.

He turned onto his side to see you better but his movement made you stir and your face scrunched up. Roger laughed as you finally cracked open one eyelid, tenderly moving your unruly hair out of your face for you.

“Mornin’, angel.”

You smiled fondly at the sound of his husky voice, heavy with sleep. “Morning.”

You liked the way he looked in the morning, so peaceful and soft. You stayed there, just smiling stupidly at each other before you eventually turned your head, burying your face into the pillow as you laughed.

Roger grinned. “Oh, no you don’t.” He wrapped a hand around your waist, drawing you closer, and kissed your cheek, trying to get you to show your face again.

You did, cheeks a little pink, but still smiling. It was a strange feeling to wake up next to someone, it felt even stranger waking up next to Roger. But a nice strange. Different. New. Good.

You tried to move closer to him but Roger’s smile slipped,

“Sorry,” His voice cracked, his chest tight. “Shit, sorry, I’m-” He moved his hips away from you, his face red with embarrassment. 

You scrunched up your face, confused. You balled his shirt up in your fists, gently tugging him back to you. Roger was always so warm, your only source of heat in his draughty, old flat. It had been far too long since you’d been able to touch him, you weren’t going to let him get away so easily. But as you shuffled closer, you felt him straining against the thin material of his pants. Roger whimpered as your fingers brushed against him.

_Oh_. You pulled back just far enough so that you could trail your gaze down his body and felt heat rise in your cheeks when you saw the tent in his pyjama pants. You looked back up at him and found his eyes were dark and fixed on you. 

“Sorry, it’ll go away in a sec.”

Roger’s voice was rough and low. It made you shiver, though that may have been the way he was looking at you, so obviously mortified but underneath that, hungry and barely holding himself back. You licked your lips, your gaze drifting between the obscene outline straining against his pants, his lips, so soft and close to yours, and finally his eyes, darker than you’d ever seen them.

“Rog,” you whispered, moving closer until you were pressed tight against him. “Kiss me.”

Roger hissed as his hard on pressed against your stomach, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip. He fought every instinct that begged him to grind against you, to relieve the pressure, but you were so soft and warm and you smelt so good, wearing his shirt, calling his name.

“Are you sure?” He gasped as you pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw, unable to help yourself. “You don’t have to…”

“I’m sure. I want you.” You didn’t know where this sudden bravery was coming from but you didn’t care. You couldn’t summon much rational thought at all. All you knew was that you were in bed with the boy you loved and he was so hard for you, his face flushed and pink. You didn’t have to think about it for long, you didn’t have to think at all. “Please, Roger.”

Your words made him melt and all sense of restraint left him in a moment. Roger felt all the tension in his muscles slip away. Hearing you beg for him, the need in your voice, the way you pressed yourself against him, it made his breaths come short and fast, but he held back, testing the waters, worried about overstepping a boundary, about making you uncomfortable, no matter how eagerly you kissed him.

But then you slipped your hand up to his hair again and pulled, remembering the noises he’d made last night, and something in Roger snapped. He growled against your lips, pushing the duvet out of his way so that he could pull your leg over his hip, holding it there, grabbing your thigh, long fingers splayed across your bare skin.

You both gasped, whining into each other’s mouths as your clothed heat met his hard length, still straining against his pyjamas. With a desperate sound, Roger pulled your hips against his, rolling them so that you ground against him again and again until you were moving with each other, moaning as heat flooded your bodies.

You existed for a moment in a haze of grinding and sloppy, messy, loud kissing. You almost sobbed as the pressure and intensity built up to unmanageable levels, then his grip on your hips tightened again and the next thing you knew, you were on your back, your head against the pillows, and Roger was on top of you. 

The groan that slipped from your lips surprised you both. You’d never felt anything like this, your heart was hammering out of your chest, but Roger moved back just far enough to meet your gaze. He gave you a soft smile, asking if you were alright. You opened your mouth to answer but you realised you could feet his heart pounding under your hand. He was just as excited and nervous as you were.

“I need to tell you something.”

Roger cocked his head to the side, silently asking you to keep going and you looked down.

“I’ve never….”

You nervously looked back up at him, suddenly feeling shy. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it. You weren’t embarrassed, but you knew Roger had been with other girls, other girls who were better at this, who knew what they doing. All you wanted was to make him feel good, and with a stab of possessiveness, you found you wanted to make him feel better than anyone else ever had. But you’d never done this before and as much as you knew you wanted this, you needed Roger to know that he was your first.

You watched him put two and two together. When Roger finally realised what you meant, he surprised you by kissing your cheek sweetly.

“Well, that’s alright.” He beamed at you. “Are you sure you want to? We don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you said quickly, perhaps a little too quickly.

Roger laughed, not at you, but with you, and you saw that his cheeks were pink. You wondered if any other girls had got him to blush like that before. With a surge of pride, you knew they hadn’t, and it gave you confidence.

You suddenly wanted him close and gently guided him back down so that you could kiss him again, soft and sweet. You liked the feeling of him on top of you, you felt safe like this, like you knew Roger was going to take care of you. As his hands smoothed down your sides, you let out a shaky breath, but then his mouth left yours and found the underside of your jaw and you had to bite back a groan.

Roger pressed a gentle kiss to the mark he left behind then brushed his lips against the corner of your mouth, laughing softly when he saw the look on your face. “You just tell me if you want me to stop, ‘kay, love?” he whispered.

You nodded, already looking down at his lips again. “Don’t think we’ll have to worry about that but good to know,” you muttered before pressing your lips back to his.

Roger’s laugh rolled into a groan as your hands pushed down on his back, pulling him against you. He could barely think straight, you were all around him. He tried to keep his breathing steady but it had been so long since anyone had touched him like this, and he’d loved you for so long, he almost wanted to cry. 

His hand slid under your shirt, his fingers splayed as he ran his palm up your stomach. You stiffened at first, not used to being touched there, and Roger felt it immediately. He stopped, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable, but you shook your head.

“It’s alright, please don’t stop.” You were a little embarrassed at how breathless you were but then Roger grinned and your mind went blank as his mouth found yours again, moaning softly as he ground his hips against yours, desperate for some friction.

With a groan, Roger moved away, gently tugging at the hem of your shirt, asking if it was alright to take it off. You felt your heart pick up again as you sat up a little, allowing him to pull it up and over your head, smiling when you heard him murmur, _‘arms up, sweetheart’_.

You settled back against the mattress and felt your face heat up as Roger’s gaze swept over you. You felt strangely shy. But Roger’s gaze was warm, his smile soft.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, brushing his fingertips against your cheek.

You smiled, feeling your nerves start to ebb under his loving gaze. “You’re not so bad yourself, Taylor.”

Roger laughed, shaking his head, blushing again and all because of you. He bent his head and grazed his teeth over the swell of your breast, and you let out an embarrassing whine, begging him to hurry up and take your underwear off.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he groaned, kissing your neck as his hands slipped round your back to undo the clasp.

You bit back a groan as the cold morning air sent goosebumps over your skin. You thought you heard Roger swear under his breath at the sight of you. He licked his lips, nuzzling his face against your soft skin, double-checking that you were alright in a soft voice, before his mouth found your breast.

You arched your spine as you pressed your head back into the pillow, mouth hanging open, eyes closed as an unfamiliar but definitely not unwelcome pleasure swept over you. Roger moaned against you, his free hand kneading your other breast, brushing his thumb over you, making you arch into his touch.

“This weekend s’going a lot better than I thought it would,” he mumbled against you.

You laughed softly. “And it’s not even ten yet.”

“We’ve got all day, love. And I could spend hours doing this if you wanted.”

“Oh-” You let out a choked moan as his tongue swirled over you, his breath warm on your sensitive skin. One of your hands slid back into his hair, pulling Roger closer against you. “Fuck, Rog.”

He groaned in response. All Roger could think about was his bare skin against yours. With an impatient moan, he pulled his mouth away from you, grinning at your disappointed expression. He breathed heavily into your mouth as he kissed you with all the finesse of a man who’d been waiting for you his entire life, and his hands began to wander more and more, his fingertips tracing across your stomach, then lower still to your hips. 

Your mouth left his as you let out a soft sigh, your eyes firmly shut. Roger smiled, feeling quite pleased with himself, but his mouth fell open as you raised your hips, experimentally rolling them against his, whining desperately as his hard length rubbed against your heat. Roger caught your bottom lip between his teeth as a low moan escaped him, then sighed as his forehead touched yours. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

You grinned, pleased with yourself and rolled your hips again, pulling gently on his hair. You were enjoying investigating, finding out what felt good, discovering what he liked. You felt so honoured to be the one who got to touch him like this, to be the first to treat him with the love and the care that he deserved and craved more than anything. It was just as much his first time as it was yours.

Roger sat up suddenly, pulling off his shirt and chucking it carelessly over his shoulder. “There. Now we’re even,” he said brightly, still smiling as his mouth found yours again, pulling you even closer, kissing you so hard, you thought you saw stars.

You pressed your hands against either side of his jaw, keeping his mouth against yours, whimpering softly as your bodies moulded together. He felt so firm and warm, so strong and reassuring against you. His mouth was less harsh on yours now, more intimate and searching and sweet, but that only maddened you more.

Your fingers slipped up to his shoulders, feeling his muscles shift beneath his soft skin. Your hands drifted lower to his chest, then you slowly dragged your fingertips down to his middle, down further still to the hem of his pants.

Roger groaned softly into your mouth, his hand moving down to grasp your ass and pull you tight against him. You gasped, you could feel him pressing against your thigh through your clothes, and instead of feeling nervous like you thought you might, all you could think about was getting the rest of his clothes off as quickly as possible.

As Roger ground his hips against yours, you were a little mortified at how loud the sound you made was, especially when he drew back to look at you, his bright eyes searching yours, making sure it was a good noise and not a sign that he should stop. But you kissed him again, messily, hungrily and he moaned, surprised by your enthusiasm.

You broke away with an ecstatic, wet sound that sent a surge right to your core. “Roger, please.” You weren’t even sure what you were begging for, you just knew you wanted him to get on with it.

Luckily, Roger seemed to understand. He moved over you, pressing kisses down your neck, murmuring sweetly against your skin, telling you that you were beautiful, and he loved you, and he couldn’t believe this was happening in a breathless voice that made your heart soar.

He wasn’t sure how you managed it, but you always made him feel bigger, stronger, and right now, gasping softly together in his room, he knew you felt safe with him. It made his heart pound, feeling so in love he could barely speak, but it made his cock twitch in his pants. He just wanted to take care of you, to make you moan and whimper for him and only him, to make you feel half as in love as he did right now.

“What do you want?” he asked, brushing your open mouths together.

You tried to answer but his fingers brushed against you through your sleep shorts and your reply was cut off by your own breathless moan. You could feel him smiling against your neck as his thumb rubbed against you, then he moved your shorts out of the way and slowly drew the tip of his finger against your soaked underwear, right over your centre.

You whimpered and tried to grind down against his hand, searching for more friction where you needed it most, but Roger’s free hand gripped your hip and pinned you to the bed. You saw a flash in his eyes, and you knew that was him making sure you were aright with this before his determined expression was back, the focused crease in his forehead making your heart soften despite the situation.

He slowly slid your shorts down your thighs, so slowly you thought you might pass out if he didn’t touch you again soon. You tried to press you thighs together to relieve the ache between them but he held them down, fingertips pressing into your skin.

“Sorry, sweetheart, you have to wait.”

You whined but did as you were told, trusting him, knowing it would be worth it in the end. You were rewarded for your patience as he moved back over you, kissing you infuriatingly softy, asking what you wanted again in a low voice that rumbled in his chest.

You were too embarrassed to say and he could tell, so he pushed his knee between your thighs to give you something to grind against. You gasped and threw your head back, eyes squeezed shut as his thigh pressed against you, relieving you of some of the built-up tension but ultimately only making your need worse.

He asked you again, “What do you want?”

You met his gaze, chest heaving. “You, Roger.”

He grinned. “Good girl.”

Roger moved back down your body, settling between your legs. You felt his warm breath against your thighs and then he pressed a soft kiss against you through your underwear, working his way up to your clit. They must have heard the moan that fell from you in the next flat as he wrapped his lips around your clit, lightly sucking and pressing another soft kiss there before he sat back to tug down your underwear.

You lifted your hips to help him, smiling when Roger groaned at the sight, his hands scrabbling at his own pants, and soon you were both undressed. You felt suddenly very vulnerable and it unnerved you for a moment. It was the first time you’d ever been completely bare in front of anyone, but Roger’s appreciative moan and his soft smile as he moved back over you set you at ease.

“I love you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh.

You laughed softly, reaching down so that you could cradle his face. "Love you too.”

Roger beamed up at you, loving the sound of your voice like this, so rough and low and all because of him. He lay on his stomach, wrapping his arms around your thighs, asking one more time if you were alright, saying it was never too late to stop. When you desperately shook your head and begged him to keep going, Roger thought he must have died and gone to heaven.

He flattened his tongue against you, a moan escaping his throat as he finally got to taste you. The vibrations against you made you gasp and pant, eyes squeezed shut again as you focused on the pleasure. You missed Roger looking up at you with absolute adoration, his eyes bright and awed and aroused as his tongue swirled around your clit.

The sound of his tongue moving through you made you both shudder but then he pressed his finger in, and you swore you saw stars for the second time. "God, you’re-” You cut yourself off when he suddenly added another finger, hitting a point inside you that made you cry out.

Roger felt you clench around his fingers and groaned. God, it had been so long since sex felt this good. All Roger had known for years was fear and anger and sadness, and now there was nothing but happiness, nothing but you. He couldn’t believe how good it felt to be touched, to be wanted and loved. He didn’t realise he was starving for you until now.

He curled his fingers and you felt your body melt into the mattress. “Roger, please- _Fuck_, please don’t stop.”

You tasted even better than he imagined and, God, had he imagined. Roger groaned against you, cursing under his breath as your hands slipped down into his hair, pulling gently, making sure he wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. He could’ve laughed at the thought, as if there was anywhere else he’d rather be right now.

“Christ, you sound good,” he groaned, grinding his hips against the mattress for some relief of his own.

He sucked harshly at your clit and you moaned his name, squirming under his touch, legs twitching, jaw hanging open. Roger grinned as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, making you gasp at his strength and the hungry grip he had on your thighs. You could hear him tasting you, his tongue everywhere at once, his teeth grazing you.

"God, sweetheart, you…” Roger cut himself off, eyes drifting shut as he moaned into you, kissing at your core and your clit and along your inner thighs, leaving behind soft bites and feather-light kisses.

He swirled his tongue, groaning your own name against you, and you ground your hips against his mouth in response. All the while, Roger watched you carefully, listening intently to every sound you made.

You pulled his hair tight, grinning when he moaned against you again. He held onto your thighs, pulling you close enough so that his nose rubbed against you while his tongue worked, shaking his head slightly so that you bucked your hips against him.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, causing you to moan and buck your hips again.

You could feel your muscles trembling as a warmth you’d never known before began to sweep through your body. You were so close; Roger knew it too. He gripped your hips tighter, holding you down against the bed, focusing his attention on your clit with a precision that left you a whining, squirming mess, until suddenly you tensed.

“Roger!” Your mouth fell open, thighs pressing against his head as he took you over the edge, waves of pleasure sweeping through you. You shut your eyes, your hand in his hair pulling gently when Roger kept moving his tongue, sucking at your clit, prolonging the pleasure for as long as possible. He hummed against you, making your hips stutter under his hands until you melted back into the mattress.

As you got your breath back, he moved over you, smiling happily, pressing kisses against the insides of your thighs, up your stomach where he stayed for a little while, pressing soft kisses all over your tummy, nuzzling his face into your skin, then up again to between your breasts.

“Still alright?” he murmured, running his free hand over your hair.

“Think I blacked out for a sec, there.”

His smile could but the sun to shame. “You old flatterer.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Taylor.”

So he did, slow and loving. You tangled your fingers in his hair, holding his mouth against yours, moaning at the taste of you on his tongue, his mouth glistening. The thought made you moan, hitching your hips to grind against him again. 

Roger let out a choked moan. Another move like that and he’d be done for, so he moved away a little, even though every fibre of his being was screaming at him to press as close to you as possible. Roger sat up to wriggle out of his underwear and you couldn’t keep the excited grin from your face as you moved to help him, both of you laughing softly between messy, giddy kisses.

You couldn’t help running your hands down his chest, fingertips tracing over his collarbones and across his shoulders, trailing your fingers down his chest where there was only the slightest suggestion of hair. You brushed your hands over his soft middle and felt him tense under your fingers. Whether he was ticklish or embarrassed, you weren’t sure. Maybe he wasn’t used to being touched so gently. Either way, you knew you would enjoy finding out, but it would have to wait for another time because you realised Roger was watching you.

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes following the path of your hands as they smoothed down his arms. “You’re staring,” he murmured, feeling his heart pound when you smiled to yourself before you met his gaze.

“Sorry, you’re just a bit of alright, aren’t you?”

Roger laughed, shaking his head as he moved over you again. “Well, thank you very much.”

He made sure that you were alright again, unable to keep the smile from his face when you nodded desperately and practically pulled him on top of you.

Roger’s mouth pressed against yours as he slowly pushed into you, watching your face carefully for any sign of discomfort. You broke the kiss as you finally felt him fill you, his nose crammed against your cheek.

Roger gasped, whispering your name, and you dug your fingers into his shoulder blades, swearing under your breath at the delicious stretch. After a moment, you tentatively rolling your hips and watched as Roger closed his eyes, cursing as he rested his forehead against yours.

"You alright?” he asked, concern overtaking the pleasure on his face. His voice was strained and deep, breathless.

“Yes,” you laughed, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “It feels so good, Roger, please…”

“Alright, love,” he smiled, trying his best to keep his breathing steady. “I’m gonna start moving now, alright?”

You nodded, pulling him down to kiss you again. As his mouth moved against yours, Roger set a steady, deep rhythm. With each stroke, he hit a sweet spot that made you cry out. You pulled him against you, wanting him as close as possible, murmuring his name, all rational thoughts slipping away as Roger moaned against your neck.

“You- _Ah_\- Fuck, you feel so good” he moaned, and you clung to him, pulling him in deeper with the heels of your feet. “God, I love you.”

“Love you too,” you just about managed to gasp out before he slipped his hand underneath your back, lifting you to slide in deeper, and you moaned, tilting your head back. “Fuck, Roger.”

Roger bent his head and kissed you hard, making your breath hitch, then he broke away to press a sweet kiss to your forehead, his hips thrusting slow and deep. You reached up to wrap your arms around his neck, moaning so loud, but you couldn’t care less.

Roger picked up the pace, snapping his hips even harder than before, his hand moving down between you to rub harsh circles against your clit, your desperate moans all he could hear.

Your movements grew sloppy and desperate as you drew closer, whispering sweetly to each other, groaning the words into each other’s mouths as the pressure built and built. Your eyes squeezed shut, the tension in your abdomen like a rubber band, about to snap, mouth hanging open in pure, unabashed pleasure, and with one more perfectly angled thrust, Roger hit that perfect spot.

“Roger,” you gasped, choking on the word as you felt herself tighten around him, and then heat bloomed inside you and you tensed, moaning wordlessly as he gripped your thigh, pulling you so close it almost hurt. Roger cried out, falling over the edge at the same time, panting and groaning into your mouth before you pulled him down to kiss you again, just wanting him as close as possible.

You groaned, sinking back into the mattress, laughing softly as Roger practically collapsed onto you, his muscles trembling, unable to hold himself up any longer. You ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead as he raised his head to kiss you, whimpering when you moved your hips and clenched around him a final time.

After a moment, he slowly pulled out, but he didn’t go far. Roger sat up, looking down at you with so much love, you almost sobbed. God, those eyes. You felt a shiver roll over your skin and suddenly realised how cold and empty you felt without Roger on top of you, inside of you. You moaned his name, waving at him to come back to you, and Roger smiled, tired but so, so stupidly content.

“Wow,” he said, moving over you again to kiss you deep and slow. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you grinned and he pushed himself up so that he could flop down beside you, immediately pulling you against his bare chest.

You were quiet for a moment, just a tangle of limbs, exchanging gentle kisses, smoothing your hands over each inch of exposed skin, filling the room with soft sighs. Roger pressed the tip of his nose against yours. He couldn’t stop smiling if he tried.

“Does this mean you’ll be my girlfriend?”

You laughed, gently shoving his chest. “Yes, you idiot.”

“What! I thought it was polite to ask! I didn’t wanna assume.”

“I think it was safe to assume when I told you that I’m in love with you.”

You saw something shift in Roger’s face. Just for a moment, the humour left and in its place, an open, vulnerable but ultimately adoring warmth filled his gaze, like he was half afraid he’d imagined the whole thing and you saying it out loud had confirmed that all his dreams really had come true.

You smiled, feeling your heart swell until it felt two sizes bigger. You laid your head down on his chest, letting your arm fall across his middle. You closed your eyes, drawing in a deep sigh as the warmth of Roger’s skin persuaded you back into your dreams, his hands on your back and in your hair making you feel safer than you ever had.

Roger watched you drift off, smiling. He considered how quiet the room was now, and how despite being in a grotty old flat, so far from home, he didn’t feel the least bit afraid for the first time since he moved here, and all because of you.

He considered how your hand felt pressed against his chest, and the slow in and out of your breathing, so soothing that soon, he was on the brink of sleep himself. Roger kissed your forehead, smiling to himself when you hummed sleepily but happily back at him.

He knew, without a doubt, that he was the happiest he’d ever been, that he was safe, that he was wanted, and loved. He thought about you, and the way you looked at him, and the way you clutched him so tightly, like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go.

He smiled. “So this is what it feels like.”

* * *

When you woke up a few hours later, you were alone. You felt cold without Roger there, the bed suddenly feeling much bigger.

You slipped out from under the duvet, pulling Roger’s shirt back on and a pair of his red and yellow striped shorts. You crept through the tiny flat, following the sound of music and metal clattering, softly calling Roger’s name.

“’m in the kitchen!”

The soft pad of feet on the cold kitchen floor behind him made Roger look up from the stove. His heart started racing the moment he saw you, smiling without even thinking about it.

You couldn’t help beaming back. As he yawned and stretched his arms above his head, his shirt rode up, exposing a small band of his skin. His jogging bottoms were far too big for him, so they hung loosely around his hips but you weren’t complaining. His hair was a tangled, wavy mess, mostly your fault, and his glasses were back on.

“What are you doing?”

Roger scoffed, tapping a fork against the side of the saucepan he was watching intently. “Cooking, what does it look like?”

You smiled to yourself as he held out an arm, inviting you to join him and you easily slipped under it, humming softly as you leaned against his side. “Is that what we’re calling it?” 

“Oi, I’ve come on leaps and bounds since uni.”

“You couldn’t boil an egg when you left.”

“And now,” He kissed the tip of your nose, then tapped the saucepan again. “I can.”

His smile was sleepy, faint but content. You hadn’t realised it before but Roger always looked happy to see you.

“You’re a right spanner.”

Roger turned down the heat on the saucepan so that he could turn his attention to you, wrapping his arms around your middle. “Only the best for my best girl.”

You hummed as he kissed your forehead sweetly. “Mmm, I could get used to hearing that.”

Your nose bumped against his as you kissed him. What was meant to be chaste turned into more as Roger moaned softly into your mouth, gently pulling you closer. His hands drifted down to your lower back, then your hips, keeping you tight against him as you held his face.

When he pulled away, Roger was breathing heavily. He pressed his forehead against yours. He couldn’t stop smiling if he tried. “Sorry, my heart’s going like the clappers.”

“Tell you what,” you murmured. “Mine too.”

He just had time to smile before you pressed your lips to his, once, twice, then the third much longer. His mouth moved against yours slowly, deeply, drawing a moan from you that made Roger smile against your lips. He broke away but stayed close, his nose brushing yours as he pressed soft, gentle kisses at the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck.

“I’ve gotta meet the lads later, we’re doing some recording. Do you wanna come?”

“I think you already took care of that.”

Roger laughed, the sound rumbling against your throat. “Oh, you’re cheeky this morning. I like it.”

The timer on the counter went off, making you both jump. Roger apologised bashfully and went to turn it off, but you grabbed his hand before he got too far and kissed him again, cradling his face in your hands.

When you pulled away, it took Roger a moment to open his eyes again, still stunned by your kisses. When he finally summoned the sense to look at you again, he found you gazing at him with open, aching adoration, the likes of which he’d never seen, and only prayed he would see in you one day.

“I love you so much, drummer boy,” you whispered. You brushed your thumb across his cheek, tinged pink by your sweet touch.

Roger could hardly believe this was real. You kissed him with such force, with no sign of holding back, he could _feel_ just how much you loved him. He’d never known anything like it, he had never felt so wanted by anyone. His heart felt like it was going to burst as he pressed his forehead against yours.

You could feel his breath against your face, his heart pounding under your hand as you patiently waited to taste him again, and sighed with relief when he pressed his lips to yours, hearts pounding to the same rhythm while the pot on the stove bubbled over, forgotten.


End file.
